


A New Game

by pantswarrior



Series: The Cultists' Cycle [17]
Category: Vagrant Story
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Masochism, Reconciliation Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-08
Updated: 2010-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:39:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hardin thinks he deserves punishment. Sydney believes Hardin deserves a reward. There may be a way to reconcile these conflicting beliefs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Game

**Author's Note:**

> A follow-up to Between, taking place the night after the ending. One doesn't necessarily have to have read that fic in order to get this one, but it does make it clearer why this fic is happening.

Hardin was, as always, full of conflicted desires. Longing for freedom, lacking direction. Running from the past, turning to rage against it. Justifying his actions, wishing for judgment. At times, this made it very difficult for Sydney to decide what to do with him. At the moment, under the unusual circumstances coupled with the prospect of bedding together for the night, it made things completely hopeless.

On the one hand, Hardin had never ceased to desire Sydney. After his lapse in judgment, he wanted to declare his devotion anew, and to forget what had happened the night before and wash away the memories of ordinary human hands with the bite of steel. But then, he had been unfaithful in his anger; guilty of what he considered to be infidelity, he did not deserve to touch Sydney, nor to be touched. Further, always a cynic and pessimist, he did not believe that things could ever again be as they had been before.

Ordinarily the puzzle would have been easily solved, for Sydney gave in to no one's expectations. This time, he found no answer in his own thoughts, uncertain as they were. Though he would easily welcome Hardin back to his bed, he wondered if it might be better to take their time. Perhaps that would be more unkind to Hardin. Perhaps Hardin would appreciate the unkindness.

Hardin craved punishment - that much was certain. He craved it because he felt he deserved it, and he also craved it because a particular variety of punishment was as a reward to Hardin. Sydney would have been happy to give him that punishment... except that he disagreed. He felt that Hardin did not deserve it. And though he could not admit it aloud again, Sydney would rather have consummated this renewed partnership in a way that more accurately reflected his recent admission.

Which was to say, he admitted again to himself - he would _make love_ to Hardin. Once, nothing would have pleased Hardin better, but things were complicated now, and what best pleased Hardin had grown considerably more convoluted with each twist of the path they followed. Even now, a pace behind Sydney as they walked the halls of the keep, Hardin wavered, his heart bursting and shrinking away from thoughts of their destination and what might happen when they arrived.

It was that which made it clear - Sydney would have to decide, and decide fast, for his chambers were not far.

...If he was to make the decision, if all was left in his hands... then he would indeed make the decision. In fact, he would make all the decisions. It was a fitting punishment for Hardin, in that it was not punishment at all.

They had scarce stepped through the doorway when Sydney spoke, sudden and sharp and without turning to face the man he addressed. "Close the door, Hardin."

He saw, when he did turn back, that Hardin was regarding him with a mildly puzzled expression while he did as he was told. He would have closed it without being told, especially when expecting what he was expecting. Perhaps, he was thinking, Sydney had not intended for the two of them to retire to bed just yet; that was not the tone of voice Sydney used at such times. No, it had been the tone he used when giving orders, when declaring the next stage in their plan. It was the tone he used for business, not pleasure. Perhaps they were to speak in secret, of something newly discovered? Sydney could feel the disappointment behind Hardin's curiosity, and he smirked.

"You may halt - just there," Sydney told him, sitting down on the edge of the bed, and he felt the curiosity swell as Hardin stopped, only halfway back across the room. "We are going to play... a game of sorts."

Hardin frowned a bit, not in disappointment this time. On the contrary, his interest stirred. Before he could say anything, Sydney spoke again. "I make the rules. The first is that you do as I say. _Precisely_ as I say - and no more."

The frown deepened, but only because Hardin found himself embarrassingly intrigued by the idea. Again, before he could speak up one way or the other, Sydney went on. "The second is that you must not speak unless I make a specific inquiry of you. If you speak a single word without my prompting, the game will end. A single word... besides my name," Sydney amended. Hardin would not have made it far without a loophole, and there was no sense ensuring a quick end. "On the other hand... sounds that are not words will be permitted."

Hardin inhaled deeply as his suspicions about this 'game' were confirmed, and he nodded. Good - he'd realized the game had already begun.

"Thirdly, there is no 'winner' in this game," Sydney continued, settling himself further back on the bed, very deliberately crossing his legs before him. In truth, he was already enjoying this new approach, or perhaps it was only what he felt from Hardin that warmed his blood. "However... it is very possible to lose."

Hardin nodded again, his expression no longer a frown but still grave, and he shifted his weight. "You will stay there," Sydney admonished him, recognizing the motion, and he halted before he had taken the step forward. "Until I say otherwise. ...Remove your shirt, Hardin."

There was a hesitation. Self-consciousness at such a time might have been warranted had they not been together for years, and even Hardin himself knew it, but it did not stop just because he knew it to be absurd. True that this deliberate undressing was different than their usual, which tended to be marked by frantic tugging, the severing of cords, buttons gone missing... And then, Sydney observed as Hardin's body twisted to pull the garment over his head, usually Hardin was not covered with small wounds - scrapes and scratches, the occasional bruise, a telling red blotch at his shoulder. His eyes were downcast, and Sydney sensed his shame; he could have healed these inconsequential injuries, but he had chosen not to.

After a moment's internal debate, Sydney chose to heal them himself, and Hardin looked up at the quiet words of command, his heart stating that it was unnecessary though he said nothing aloud. Sydney shook his head. "The memories are penance enough," he told Hardin, "and shall last longer." Further, Sydney had no wish to think about the other while he and Hardin enjoyed their game, which he would now return to. "Remove your trousers. Slowly, mind you," he added, and Hardin began to do so in silent obedience.

One eye remained on Sydney - or rather, his soul's eye, as Hardin's physical eyes remained focused on what he was doing. Mindful of this, and the anticipatory quiver that hid behind the shame, Sydney shifted again on the bed, spreading his legs a bit as if he'd done so unconsciously. One bladed hand rested at his side, the other upon his upper thigh, fingers slipping down between. Hardin's own hands remained steady as he continued to unlace his trousers, though he did absent-mindedly tug at the wrong segment for a moment. It was obvious where his attention truly was centered.

The self-consciousness reappeared as Hardin began to step out of his clothes, turning half-away as he slipped his trousers and his smallclothes down his thighs. "Oh," Sydney said, as if mildly surprised. If Hardin was going to be self-conscious, he thought, he might as well use it for something productive. "...Yes. Remain like this, in profile. I would see you - the length of you."

Though Hardin did not move a muscle, the spark of indignance came to Sydney through other channels - He would ogle me, as if I were some sort of whore \- but also a thrill - ...And I fear I am enjoying it more than I should. Sydney nodded in approval as Hardin straightened, stubborn in his obedience, and observed a man already half-aroused, as he'd expected. "Hands at your side," he instructed. "I would not wish you to conceal your desire from me - for I shall be the one to ease it." Hardin's arms straightened at once, and there was another stab of shame. Sydney did not need to hear its origins in Hardin's heart, for he was watching the physical response of Hardin's body to his words and his critical tone. It rather pleased him to see Hardin standing before him, bare and steadily growing more aroused.

Physically, his own body seemed well-pleased, though perhaps a bit impatient. Sydney was not ready to give in yet - at least not in the way Hardin would expect. Instead, he slipped his hand further down between his thighs - carefully, given their nature - and began to rub the flat metal of what passed as the heel of his hand against the surface of his leggings. Even in his youth, these hands had been unable to allow him to pleasure himself well, even in earlier incarnations that had more ordinary fingers - the metal was too stiff, too cold - but through a layer of thin leather, he could acquire _some_ comfort. He smiled slowly at Hardin and hummed contentedly, enjoying the friction and the contrasting shock and need that his movements prompted in the other man, who could not look away. He expected that Hardin was not even aware of the smile, focused elsewhere as he was, hands twitching at his sides, his mouth a firm straight line.

Such a study in contrasting emotions was John Hardin, Sydney thought, taking in the whole of him as he casually stroked himself. Not only the stern mouth, the lingering remnants of pride in the lift of his chin and the self-consciousness in the set of his shoulders, the obvious arousal and the hazy wildness of his eyes, but Sydney could hear also Hardin's arguments with himself. There was anger at being _used_ such, after being so determined that he would never be used again - and then the excitement that came from being little more than a tool for Sydney's pleasure, when he had feared Sydney no longer desired him. It was plain to Sydney that Hardin hadn't the slightest idea how much power had been granted him; in this game of theirs, it was in fact Hardin who held all the cards, who could end his perceived shame with a single spoken word.

So far, he had not, and Sydney decided that it was time to push further. Hardin would hesitate at this, he was sure. "Take yourself in hand," he said, his voice perhaps less firm for its current breathiness. "The left hand," he added, before Hardin had had the chance to react further than brows drawn together and an unspoken outburst of protest, which even his heart could not manage to put into words. "So that I may still see."

Just as he'd expected, Hardin balked at this. Absurd, when Hardin had touched himself in Sydney's presence innumerable times - Sydney could not stroke Hardin with his own hands, after all, but usually Sydney was not staring at him, Sydney was _inside_ him - and slowly Hardin's left hand lifted, drawn by his current need and the memories of need satisfied. He drew in a deep breath as his thumb rested along the top of his shaft, his fingers curled about the underside, sliding towards the tip-

"No," Sydney admonished him. "Do not stroke, do not caress... merely touch. Contact, but no motion." He was of course not following his own instructions, and in fact was rubbing more firmly according to his own need. Hardin was incredulous at this direction, the audacity and the cruelty, but his hand ceased to move, aside from a slight tremble as he continued to watch Sydney enjoy watching him. Before long, his head tilted back, his eyes closed, and he took a deep breath. He could do this, and he _would_ do this. Still, even with eyes shut, even deliberately not making use of his talent, he could not escape the soft sounds of metal against leather, the caught breaths and unstifled sighs. His right hand clenched to a fist at his side, then opened and clenched again in his desperation. A quiet sound of frustration escaped him.

Sydney could feel it between them, the pull that bound one to the other, tugging at the both of them - strong as gravity, perhaps as strong as the weave of energies that allowed him to ignore gravity when he chose. Hardin wanted nothing more than to cross those last few paces to the bed, to _Sydney_ , and Sydney knew well that the arousal he'd provoked in himself could not reach completion without Hardin's assistance. Even so, it was easier for him to remain as he was, relaxed upon the bed, than it was for Hardin to remain on his feet and yet still. It was impressive, Sydney thought, that he could even continue to stand straight. "Such strength," he murmured between heavy breaths, "to keep your composure even now, to remain straight and still as asked."

Giving up his attempts to ignore, Hardin opened his eyes again, looking straight at Sydney. The struggle to remain as instructed was going poorly for him, Sydney sensed, though he'd not yet lost. He was close enough to losing, however, that he gave in and uttered the one word he was allowed, in a low growl. "... _Sydney._ "

Sydney wanted to laugh, for his name was weighted such that it was both a plea and a rebuke in only a single word. Something whispered that it would not be wise to laugh - the Dark had watched Hardin's indiscretion - and so he suppressed it to merely a smile as he gave in. "...Let go, Hardin," he murmured, resting his hand at his side again. "Come to me."

Always a quick learner, John Hardin. Though his stiff movements betrayed his wish to dash the few steps to the bedside, he did nothing more upon arrival but remained standing before Sydney, rather than sitting beside him, or kneeling before him. Sydney's eyes were at waist-height, and they slowly looked Hardin over. Downwards; Hardin was now fully aroused, uncomfortably so, made all that much more uncomfortable by Sydney's eyes lingering on his erection without shame. Upwards; Sydney had healed his fresh wounds, but old scars remained, jagged lines across his ribs and stomach. It was a reminder, abruptly, of why Sydney had thought to distance himself - but he denied the fears and instead leaned forward, reaching out to place his palms harmlessly on Hardin's hips as he took Hardin into his mouth.

A breath half-taken turned to a wheeze - Hardin was startled by the action, though he could hardly protest it. Indeed, he still had the self-discipline to stifle his outburst, and though his hands rose, he stopped himself before they found Sydney's shoulders. What he could not quite stop were the slight movements of his hips, rocking forward with the same rhythm Sydney kept, and the groan when Sydney went deeper, nearly swallowing him.

There was another groan when Sydney abruptly released him, the cool air a shock after the warmth of his mouth, but Sydney simply looked up to him casually, leaning back at an angle to expose the now prominent rise in his tight leggings, which hid little before and nearly nothing now, and he spoke a single word. "Kneel."

Hardin sank to his knees as if he were collapsing, so eager was he. "I believe," Sydney murmured, "that your hands would undo these cords more quickly than mine." There was no mistaking which cords he meant - not when Hardin was kneeling between his knees, his face barely more than a span away. In this, Hardin's obedience was instantaneous.

Perhaps too fast, Sydney decided. Almost before Hardin had finished, his palms were flat against Hardin's temples, drawing him forward and up as Sydney sat upright again himself, bringing Hardin's lips to his own. Hardin's kiss was hungry, devouring as Sydney's mouth had moments before, half-starved but for the deliberate determination behind it - I would forget all but this \- and his whole body trembled as Sydney shifted forward to straddle him around the waist. His arms rose to embrace Sydney, but Sydney opted not to rebuke him for acting unbidden. Instead he guided Hardin's head and his hungry mouth downward, towards his lap, and his next instruction was clear without words being spoken. Strong arms slipped beneath and around Sydney's thighs, and Hardin's head bent to kiss between with as much enthusiasm as he'd shown for Sydney's lips.

Sydney gasped, his back arching from the caresses of Hardin's mouth as it stroked and licked and enveloped, wet and hot and imparted with urgency. There was a time, he remembered, when Hardin had actually been reluctant - but Sydney had taught him better. "Very good," he breathed, his hands sliding down the back of Hardin's neck and into the curve of his shoulder. "...Harder."

The razors' edges dug in lightly. Hardin nearly choked, but recovered himself quickly, and took more of him in, quickening the rhythm. In return, Sydney's hands tightened upon his shoulders, and the feel of Hardin moaning around him forced him to let go, to clutch at the blankets below him. Hardin might not have objected even to this touch, but Sydney was not finished yet, nor was he ready for Hardin to finish. "Enough," he whispered, when he no longer had breath to speak aloud, and was relieved when Hardin sat back on his heels, panting but clearly reluctant. His eyes were unfocused; he watched from another angle, no doubt, and with mild confusion as to what would make Sydney stop now.

When they'd both caught their breath, when Sydney's desire had slowed to an ache, he spoke again. "On your back," he told Hardin, moving aside.

Hardin's eyes closed, and as he rose, he took a deep breath that Sydney could tell was a sigh of relief. For one thing, Sydney did not intend to end yet. For another, Sydney hadn't taken him face to face for some time, but only from behind.

But then again... Sydney was not quite intending to do that yet either. He leaned on one arm beside Hardin as Hardin lay down upon the bed, the rise and fall of his chest uneven from the effort to keep himself still. It was not nearly enough effort, once Sydney lifted the other hand and placed it upon Hardin's belly. Hardin's head tossed fretfully as the five points of Sydney's clawed fingers pressed into his flesh by no more than a hairsbreadth, and when Sydney dragged them slowly downwards, he fairly writhed, clutching the sheets between white knuckles. One kind of penetration or another, Sydney thought with vague amusement, letting his fingers bite deeper as Hardin's body bucked up against them, seeking more contact.

Sydney did not touch Hardin otherwise, but stayed clear aside from the tips of his fingers. Hardin was growing more desperate with each stinging stroke, his heart overflowing with pleas and promises and curses which were aimed as much at himself as they were at the origin of his torment. Yet even now, Sydney was pleased to see, Hardin had not forgotten the game, and still he had enough will to keep himself from making any of the outbursts he longed to speak. He could not entirely contain himself, however, and deprived of the usual outlet, what came out was an incoherent, frustrated growl.

Sydney couldn't help but smirk at this. "Such fascinating sounds," he murmured. "Primal, as if you were some great beast..." A flick of one fingertip, still embedded in Hardin's flesh, prompted something that was nearly a roar. "But no - if you'd forgotten yourself, you would be shouting words. You're still very much a civilized being. Very impressive, my dear Hardin, for you to go on so long this way."

The response in Hardin's heart was instantaneous and so predictable that Sydney drew breath to laugh softly. "...Too long indeed," he agreed, and Hardin's knees parted, drawn up around Sydney as he climbed between. There had been no proper preparation, but long had they been partners, and Sydney knew Hardin's body well; there was less discomfort when Hardin wanted it so badly, and any remaining was nothing that either of them would protest. He could, perhaps, have prolonged this game... but by now, Sydney was as eager to have it finished as Hardin was.

Though the rules were still in effect once he had penetrated Hardin, Sydney found that there was no need for them. Hardin, having been teased and tormented for so long, was beyond the utterance of words, aside from the murmur, "Sydney, Sydney, _Sydney_ ," that sometimes punctuated their rhythm. His head tossed in exultation, his hand found himself without shame, for it was beyond Sydney's ability to be cautious or gentle now. There was no need for any further instruction, for Hardin was doing - _being_ \- everything Sydney wanted from him in the moment. Neither was there need for trial, when Sydney knew Hardin's reactions, how far he could yet be pushed - and he was holding out, even now, wasn't he? Trying to wait for Sydney, until they were both ready, until he was _permitted_ \- and the deep, trembling breath Sydney took, his body arching up off of Hardin's, was permission enough.

After, Sydney lay half across him, one arm splayed over the other side of Hardin's chest, which likely did not help either of them recover their breath. Normally Hardin would have raised a hand groggily to his back, perhaps to the nape of his neck. This time, he remained still, and it took a moment before Sydney realized why. "Yes," he murmured, rolling off his partner and onto his back, "the game is finished."

Hardin drew a long breath, and sighed. Then, abruptly, he rolled over as well, throwing an arm over Sydney's waist. "I must have heard you wrong."

"Hmm...?" Sydney looked up at him, and was secretly delighted by the smile upon John's face, always such a rare sight.

"I thought that I had heard you say that this game has no winner," Hardin replied. "And yet, I am certain that I have won." Though you play at restricting my liberties and increasing your own... his heart added. You will give me all I need, will you not?

Sydney could scarcely argue with that, and he would not. "...You played exceedingly well. Perhaps that is why you have won." He smirked back at that smile. "However, I do not believe that I have lost."

"Perhaps," Hardin murmured, "when two players are quite skilled, both may win." Though the only way I can imagine you losing is if I were to lose... ...All the more incentive to win, then.

The near-silent, shaking laughter as Hardin shook his head and settled it upon Sydney's chest was an unexpected but worthy prize, to Sydney's mind.


End file.
